


Travelin' Soldier

by Lumiel_lightbringer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Drugs, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychotropic Drugs, References to Drugs, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25312351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumiel_lightbringer/pseuds/Lumiel_lightbringer
Summary: Waitin' for the soldier to come back againNever more to be alone when the letter saidA soldier's coming home
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Kudos: 4





	Travelin' Soldier

_Waitin' for the soldier to come back again_  
_Never gonna be alone when the letter said_  
_A soldier's coming home_

"Don't do anything stupid 'til I get back." 

Steve smiles but it barely meets his eyes, "How could I? You're takin' all the stupid with you." 

"You're a punk." 

The air is tense as Steve stares out the window; waiting. For the 7th hour, for the newspaper, for Bucky's letter — which took a lot of demanding to get rerouted, but he's handled worse than a few bruised ribs. 

Waiting and waiting and waiting, so he looks back down at his paper and tenses his fingers around the charcoal — his mother's smiling face staring back up at him. The radio plays a soft tune in the background as he swallows a lump in his throat. The tip touches the paper and Steve starts on his own portrait, sitting below his mother in a photograph they never had the money to afford. 

_He said when it's gettin' kinda rough over here_

"Captain." 

Steve looks up. His eyes glow with unshed emotion and he hides it poorly. He sets letter ( **'Stevie, just tell me you didn't actually get in. It's hell over here, so get your scrawny ass down to those factories and collect scraps or something. Who knows, maybe one of your bullets will save ~~my~~ a life.'**) down and forces a smile. 

She looks towards the letter, arms crossed, "Your friend?" 

"My best friend, actually." 

_I think of that day sittin' down at the pier_

Bucky groans as he falls backwards, barely caught by Dugan, grinning stupidly. 

He grumbles something nasty before pushing off and standing, "This is. The worst." He breathes, staring out wide-eyed at the ocean. 

"Pretty view, though, eh?" Dugan asks, elbowing him, and Bucky knows he isn't looking at the sunset. 

"You fucking cocksucker." He grunts, being dragged off by Dugan towards the medical bay and, conveniently, the female nurses helping out.

( _"You cocksucker!" "What, afraid of a lil' water?" "Jerk!" "Punk- hey!" "How d'you like it, asshole?"_ ) 

_And I close my eyes and see your pretty smile_

_Don't worry but I won't be able to write for awhile I cried_

"Barnes, Sergeant. 32557038. Barnes, Sergeant. 3255-"

The waves of cold linger in his veins. Rolling against the walls of flesh and bone and rattling his brain to pieces. 

"-7038. Barnes," The air is hot and cold and thick and thin. It's empty when he gasps but pounds on his sweaty corpse. He barely feels the needle in his vein, but the electric of the serum burns him awake. 

"Sergeant. 32557038. The 107th regimen. Barnes, Sergeant." His eyes are molten and the small glasses that occasionally float above his face swim in the sulphur ocean that's become his sight. It burns, burns burns. It all burns. 

"The 107th regimen..."

He can't remember when he started the mantra or when — if at all — he stopped.

The machine came and gone, or maybe he was the one to move. He doesn't remember getting up, but then again he doesn't remember being in the underground lab — Wasn't there a window? 

"Barnes, Sergeant. 32557038. Barnes, Sergeant."

The man talks to him in English yet he understands nothing. He continues his mantra, his throat filled with blood. 

His ears pop and he's sure an eardrum burst. It's warm as it trickles down his jaw and he can't hear. The blood distracts him and the serum burns burns burns and the machine shocks him, and he can hear again. It's garbled. Slow. His ears burn. 

"Barnes, Sergeant. 32557038."

The air is tense as Bucky stares out the window. Waiting for the next sensation, waiting for a saviour he knows will never come, waiting for death.

"Barnes, Sergeant." 

_Waitin' for the soldier to come back again_  
_Never more to be alone when the letter said_  
_A soldier's coming home_

"I need the casualty list from Azzano." 

Steve's heart races faster than it had since the serum. He can't be, he can't be dead. 

"You don't get to give me orders, son." 

"I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th." 

No no no, no no no.

"Please, sir just tell me if he's alive." Please, please, ( _'Don't do anything stupid 'til I get back'_ ), "B-A-R-" 

"I can spell." ( **'Don't you dare kill Alpine, she gets 1 serving, and only 1, she's a big lady. Now you on the other hand,-'** ) "I've signed more of these condolence letters than I'd like to. But the name does sound familiar." 

No. ( _'-'Til I get back.'_ )

Oh, God. 

_The Lord's Prayer said and the anthem sang_

"Bucky! Hang on!"

The air burns, burns burns. His eyes burn burn burn. His hands and fingers, strain and sting and they burn burn burn. Everything burns. 

"Grab my hand!" 

The metal creaks and groans — please, please please please. Steve- "No!" — and gives way underneath his palms. 

Air replaces metal and it stings and shocks him awake. 

He's so awake. 

Steve shrinks — he's always been so small — and the train disappears and he's all alone. ( _''Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal'_ )

Ending, end end end of the line. Is this the end? It feels like it. He didn't catch him, didn't save him, but Steve never promised Bucky shit. Never owed him a goddamn thing. Bucky closes his eyes. He's so alone. And his eyes hurt so much, swelling and clouding over with too much emotion, and he doesn't care enough to hide it. It burns...Burns, burns, burns. 

"Bucky Barnes, 1917."

It burns.

_A man said folks would you bow your heads_

Steve ducks his head, and the tears can't stop flowing once they start. God, God God God - _No_ -. 

( _''Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal'_ ) And Steve wasn't there, didn't stay with him, didn't save him. 

His eyes hurt, and his heart screams and he can't breathe. He can't breathe. The serum fixed his asthma but even in all his _perfect, enhanced_ glory he failed. Failed his best friend. 

His fingers crease the paper, his lips cursing himself. He stares down at Bucky's grey eyes. The blankness in them. His eyes dart around — God, God _fuck_ — and tugs a berry off a bush, smearing the blue over the charcoal. No, no no. His eyes are blue. Steve blinks and sees them, stares and sees them. Blue beside blue below green because he has his father's eyes. Steve wishes he had his pencil. Wishes he could finish Bucky's jacket, see his friend once more. He stares and stares at the incomplete image and curses it. Bucky always wore his wings on his left, he just needs to remember that. He has too. He can't forget. Never never never forget-

It burns. 

_Waitin' for the soldier to come back again_  
_Never gonna be alone when the letter says_  
_A soldier's coming home_

"Sergeant Barnes,"

No-

"It's so nice of you to drop in." An evil laugh, a disgusting face ( _"Backfneifengesicht." "Wha's that mean?" "Punchable face." "Fucking hell, Gabe-" "Am I wrong?" "Hell no."_ ), beady eyes. 

"Now, where were we?" 

It burns, burns burns. Needle in the vein, mask over his face, nose and throat burn burn burn. His flesh is alive. It crawls and curls and he screams into the plastic. 

The white hot turns cold cold cold, and the beams are back. Bright bright bright. In his eyes, seeping in like a burst dam. Under his skin, moving and squirming like worms. A colony of ants trotting through his veins. The burn becomes ash and he's numb. Numb as the mask falls, numb as the needle escapes, numb as the lasers vanish and he's manhandled to a gurney he doesn't remember leaving. 

Repeat, rinse repeat, "Again." start all over, rinse repeat, repeat. 

"Barnes, Sergeant." His throat hurts and he stutters out the digits. 

Red hot, boiling white, the air's a liquid and his blood curdles to plasma. Mud and sludge and _"Barnes, pick up that rifle!"_ , _"Come on ladies! Move! Move! Move!"_

Seering from under black lights — no, wait, his eyes are closed. What time is it? "32557038."

Red red red. Only ever red. "Again." Rinse, repeat.

The voices stop speaking English. He hears German and something else.

The beady eyed man leaves. The German leaves. Russian, that's what it is. A new machine. An angrier machine. They don't translate anything to him, but they keep repeating something. Getting more annoyed when he stutters out, "Barnes, Sergeant. 32557038."

The liquid stops burning. It stings. His muscles are sore. His eyes fatigue. He passes out. 

"Рассвет."

His eyelids sag and he blinks past sand, "Девять."

No no no, that can't- that can't be right. There were...More there were...More?

"Один."

It's almost done- they're gonna ask they're-

"Солдат?" 

32557038, Sergeant. Sergeant Barnes. Sergeant Barnes, 32557038. Barnes- Sergeant.

No, please- please, пожалуйста. 

"Ещё раз." 

What? No- "Sergeant, 325...778...9." 9? He feels like there's a 9 somewhere in there. His head hurts. His?

The needle feels like fire, he's so tired. 

"Желание." Already? "Ржавый."

Sergeant, Sergeant Barnes. Sergeant... Sergeant...

"Один."

It hurts, it hurts, burns burns burns his brain. He can't think. Sergeant? 

"Грузовой вагон."

He stares at them. Who are they? 

"Солдат?"

"I... I don't... I don't know." He whispers. What are they- no no no, what are they asking? Question, it's it's a question. Questions require answers but- what was the question? 

"Ещё раз."

No, no no no, please-

"The procedure's already started." 

No- please- wait no, he- he can understand. This, he understands this. 

_"Sergeant Barnes."_ What? _"The procedure's already started."_ No.

He screams and he's free- he's free and he's not screaming and- and-...

"Солдат?"

Кто? 

"Готов соблюдаеть." 

_Waitin' for the soldier to come back again_  
_Never gonna be alone when the letters says_  
_A soldier's coming home_

_"'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal."_

_"Grab my hand!"_

"Bucky?" 

Wrong wrong wrong - Bucky? Bucky. No. 

His head hurts. Blended and shook to oblivion and torn apart like a piñata.

His mind is crumbling, crumbling under the weight of _"Bucky?"_ , of _"Grab my hand!"_ , of _"End of the line"_ and blue eyes and bright hair and a too big nose and a shinier- and a bruised eye, swollen lip, big nose broken and eyes brimming with water that isn't tears because he doesn't cry, he's cried three times in his whole life and the first was his damn birth. What? _"Bucky?"_ No-

His eyes unfocus, seeing a grinning face and skinny frame, seeing brown locks and defined cheekbones, seeing a rifle filled with rocksalt, a white cat _"playing the piano better than you, Jamie. Go on, scales."_ , cabbage and potatoes, stolen bread and a burnt Thanksgiving chicken ( _"Some old coot took the last turkey, sorry Stevie." "Not what I asked." "You're a punk, you know that?" "You're a jerk. And a thief."_ ), sleepless nights under lantern lights and on stale pillows, broken windows and smokes on the rooftops. Too much, too much, too too much-

_"Grab my hand!"_

_"I hate chocolate."_  
_"Too bad, it's what we got."_  
_"But I hate chocolate."_  
_"You punk- fine, then give it-"_  
_"I didn't say I wouldn't eat it! My throat hurts."_  
_"You're high-maintenance, Rogers."_

_"'Cause I'm with you-"_

_"Buck?"_  
_"..."_  
_"Oh, God."_  
_"He's... It's. I don't know. He didn't. He's not comin' home, Stevie."_  
_"I'm so, so sorry."_  
_"..."_  
_"Come here."_  
_"Stevie- God, Stevie-"_

_"'Til the end of the line, pal."_  
_"Thanks, Buck."_

_"You okay, pal?"_  
_"I had him on the ropes-"_  
_"Sure ya did. God you're small."_  
_"Gee, thanks."_  
_"James Buchanan Barnes. Wha's your name?"_  
_"Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you, Mister president."_  
_"Oh, real creative. Where'dya you hear that one, the first graders?"_

_"Grab my hand!"_

_"I'm surprised you even got it."_  
_"You callin' me dumb?"_  
_"Yeah."_  
_"You're a punk, Rogers."_  
_"Jerk. Makin' me look bad in front'a the ladies."_  
_"Mm, I bet they're always swooning after you."_  
_"You fucking bet."_

_"Bucky?"_

_"Hey Bucky."_  
_"The hell you call me?"_

_"Bucky?"_

_"Hey, Buck."_  
_"Look who decided to show up. Steve from New Hampshire!"_  
_"Shaddup."_

The ground appears and it's gone, gone like a dream. The ache stays as he grabs his gun and points and-

"Mission report." 

_"Bucky?"_ Blue eyes. His face? ** _'I knew him'_**

"The man on the bridge..." 

_"'Cause I'm with you,"_

"Who was he?" 

_"'Til the end of the line, pal."_

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Travelin' Soldier by The Chicks (i think-)
> 
> Translations:  
> Рассвет - daybreak  
> Девять - 9  
> Один - 1  
> Солдат? - Soldier?  
> Ещё раз - again  
> Желание - longing  
> Ржавый - rusted  
> Грузовой вагон - freight car  
> Кто? - who?  
> Готов соблюдаеть - ready to comply


End file.
